


incalescence

by pigeonholeprinciple (pigeonsatdawn)



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Internal Conflict, Lies, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Indulgent, Sexual Tension, Somewhat, Sparring, Spice, Tension, a lot of blades, a lot of feelings, a lot of pinning, conflicted!lauren, i changed my mind, idk take this, is this considered a masochistic piece of work, lauren is confused, really - Freeform, so here are more tags:, soft, soft!Kieran, soft!lauki, take that for a change, that's it for now folks, they keep lying, this will never be canon but one can imagine, through half-truths, wait is there some crack here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26522104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonholeprinciple
Summary: it takes time for wounds to heal, as it does for ice to melt.
Relationships: Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White
Comments: 18
Kudos: 117





	1. cold

**Author's Note:**

> the summary is not what it seems; there is no concept of time here nor is there any angst other than the classic mentions of the infamous ep. 43.
> 
> the story does, though, take off after ep. 59, so go and read that if you haven't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is also not what you think and the chapter isn't as cold as it seems. no emotional constipation that will cause angst. trust me.  
> 

**Kieran White** spent his day in the precinct quite eccentrically.

As an archivist, Kieran White didn’t really have much to do, nor was he usually within the range of people to have to interact with, so he normally took his time doing his archiving duties. However, he managed to get even less work done that day than on an average day. His mind kept wandering off—which was weird, given that his mind _doesn’t_ wander off. And it’s not because of anything in particular; rather than wandering, one could say that his mind was… fading.

He blamed it on the lethargy from the previous night. He had been on a mission, alone, not as the Purple Hyacinth, nor as Lune. Alone, as Kieran White, in pursuit of his personal mission. Besides, he was sure the officer would show no sympathy for him and whatever he wished to do, no matter how deadly the mission was. (It wasn’t, but apparently laborious enough to send him into a directionless meander for an entire day.) Even though he’d apologized, he’d quite given up on trying to get back in Lauren Sinclair’s good graces, and simply accepted his fate.

Now he was alone again, and he was fine with it. He’d been alone for a long time, anyway. And it was better that way, because Lauren managed to bring out the hidden sides of him in a way that even he hadn’t expected, and that made him vulnerable. Alone was good. Alone meant he was on guard, meant that there were less threats to the persona he’d formed over the years, the persona he’d fortified in order to achieve his end goals. 

Except right now, Kieran was more vulnerable than he realized. In fact, it took him quite a while to realize it at all.

The first sign he noticed indicating any problem at all was when he walked straight into the door of the archives as he was going to leave. When he noticed he was going to walk through a blocked doorway, he took a step back, blinked at the door, and wondered why he hadn't thought of opening the damn door before going through it.

No big deal. He grabbed the door handle—and noticed how cold the metal handle was under his palm—and pushed the door open, before heading out. Now he was in the hallway of the station.

Then came his second moment of perplexion: _Why was he out here, again?_

He tried to trace back his thoughts in order to find out what led him to leave the archives in the first place, but his train of thought had been jumbled up, or some parts of the train may have been already forgotten—he didn’t know, he couldn’t have known, his mind was too out of it to _think_ properly. He shook his head, before going back in the archives, having lost his reason to leave in the first place.

It took Kieran a good fifteen minutes to realize what had prompted him to go out earlier: he was craving for some coffee. It was quite cold in the archives, and a solid steaming mug of coffee would really help clear his mind. Maybe that was why he’d been so drowsy the entire day; he didn’t get a wink of sleep the night before, and the cold temperature increased his desire to just fall asleep already.

But of course, he couldn’t: he was to be a spy, and it wasn’t like it was acceptable to sleep in your job even if it was a regular job for him. So he went out of the room again, this time remembering to open the damn door, and went towards the direction of the break room. On his way, he encountered Lieutenant William Hawkes of the patrol unit, one of Lauren Sinclair’s best friends. 

But his mind short-circuited, and he just… blinked at the blonde, who was looking at him with his deep blue eyes and a polite smile, which quickly turned into a concerned frown. “Good morning, Mr. White. Are you alright? It’s not like you to be so… out of it.”

And he realized he hadn’t given the lieutenant a greeting, like he normally would, to upkeep the polite archivist pretense. That was his third warning, but he brushed it off for now, giving the lieutenant a smile, correcting his mistake immediately. “Ah. Good morning, Lieutenant. I was just taken aback by your beauty.”

It was William’s turn to blink in surprise, a blush growing on his cheeks. “Oh. Uh. I… Thank you?”

Kieran flashed a good-natured grin. “I was just heading to the break room for some coffee. Would you like for me to bring some to you?”

William frowned, eyebrows furrowed. “It musn’t be healthy to drink coffee at this hour… but I’m good. You can bring some for the other officers, though. I know for a fact Lauren would probably want one right now.” He sighed. “That kid needs to sleep a full night one of these days. She’s been overworking herself to the brim.”

“Of course,” Kieran nodded politely, trying to maintain a normal expression. His drowsiness had probably masked his face well, but he was slightly worried for the officer—even if they hadn’t been on good terms, Kieran still often found himself worrying over the redhead. He made his way towards the break room. It was not after preparing a few mugs of coffee for the officers when he realized he’d been in the break room that day.

Multiple times.

And he’d drunk coffee every single time he went.

Just the fourth odd thing to happen that day.

It was probably a good thing he’d met William in the hallway, because if he’d gone to the break room to consume another mug of coffee, he’d probably die of overdose, and that wasn’t the way he’d wanted to die. If anything, he was surprised his hands weren’t trembling when he carried the tray of coffee mugs all the way to the office, and that he hadn’t dropped and shattered the mugs.

He greeted the police officers amiably, handing coffee to those who want them, including a particular blue-haired sergeant who was way too bright for his exhausted self, and a red-haired one whose eyes were glaring, leaving marks hotter than a third-degree burn, as she reluctantly accepted a mug of coffee from him. He didn’t have the energy to crack some joke to spite her, though, so he just flashed her a smile too weak to be his, and went back towards the break room—

—to make himself another mug of coffee.

It wasn’t much of a surprise when Kieran was eventually found lying on the floor of the break room that day.

—

**It didn’t take** long for him to regain consciousness. It took even less time for him to immediately bolt out of the infirmary with the claim that he needed some air and head out of the station altogether. Instinctively, his feet dragged itself towards the bridge nearest to the station.

It wasn’t like the bridge held sentimental value or anything—sure, it was the same bridge he made the deal with Lauren, and the same place he’d seen her purest smile—but he’d always been fond of bridges. One of the main reasons was that he could see the best views from bridges, and that always proved well for sketching, and he liked to sketch when he was distressed and losing grasp of anything. 

That day, Kieran didn’t have a pencil with him, nor did he have paper. But he sat at the ledge, leaning against the rail of the bridge, and stared at a bird perched upon the other rail for a few good minutes. Then his hand instinctively began to move—perhaps because he was so used to it, or because it was cold outside, and he needed to stay warm somehow—his fingers drawing on his lap, his eyes trained on the bird. He only stopped when the bird flew away, and then he was left with the silent city of Ardhalis, a river splitting the land, and buildings that served as shelter for those scared of the Phantom Scythe running rampant in the streets. 

He sighed, a cloud of smoke forming from his breath. He closed his eyes—he didn’t know for how long, he might as well have fainted once more—and when he opened it, he was greeted with a particular voice tainted with distaste: “Give me one good reason not to kill you here, when you are at your most vulnerable.”

Lauren Sinclair was next to him, standing up, facing the river behind him. Her hands rested on the rail, propping her body. Kieran didn’t take long to see her, immediately turning back to face the other side of the bridge, and let out a soft smirk. “I suppose it’s your lucky day. I can’t give you a good reason, so you can kill me now.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Because—” before Kieran could explain, he sneezed.

Then he realized. How blind he was. 

“Oh,” he said aloud, stupidly. Lauren thought so, too, because she turned to him with an astounded look.

“You have a cold, and you didn’t realize for an entire day, even after you fainted?”

“In my defense, I thought it was the weather prompting me to drink five mugs of coffee a day,” he mumbled from the ground, but the air was silent enough for Lauren to hear it.

She didn’t bother hiding a snort. “How would people react if they know the Purple Hyacinth, most feared assassin, and half of Lune, the duo who outsmarted the Phantom Scythe and the APD, is really just an idiot to the core?” 

“Don’t want to think about that now,” he replied honestly, unable to form a decent thought with the throbbing headache. It brought out a small chuckle from the officer, and Kieran internally cursed fate for letting him hear such a genuine, wholesome reaction in a condition where he was unable to properly tease her for it.

Lauren turned sideways to face Kieran. “What happened, anyway? It’s not like you to be so… physically weak.”

Normally he’d make an innuendo on what she said, but again, he wasn’t in the best condition. “In case you haven’t realized, anyone can catch a cold. And it’s winter. Colds are a given.”

She didn’t say anything, yet Kieran could feel the glare to his side profile, so he admitted, “I went to Greychapel last night. To do some digging.”

“And you didn’t think to bring me along?” Lauren asked, not that she minded.

“You’re just as sleep deprived even without our nightly excursions,” Kieran pointed out. “Basically I fell in the freezing cold water, and because my coat became heavy, I had to take it off.”

“Maybe you accidentally took off your brain along with it,” she remarked. This time, he turned to glare at her, but when he saw her nonchalant expression as she joked with him, his moment of irritation melted, and he sighed in reminiscence instead. He turned away from her, not daring to let her see more weakness than she already has.

They were silent for a while. Then, she extended out a hand to him.

He looked at her, not bothering to mark his surprise. After what he’d done to her, he was sure she would never want to go close to him, much less _hold_ his hand anymore, no matter the circumstance. But here she was, an arm extended, with no obvious disgust in her face, even if there was hesitance. They stayed that way for a while, him with wide eyes, looking at her ones, reflecting the golden sun, ready to dip.

“Come on, the sun’s about to set, and your apartment’s a long way,” she said, but not with irritation.

Kieran simply blinked. “Why?” he asked softly, not wanting to piss the officer off. He liked this small moment of kindness, even though he very well knew it could be temporary.

“Because I’m an officer, and I have a duty to the people of Ardhalis,” she explained simply, and he was taken back to their very first meeting, the one she wasn’t technically aware about, that seemingly insignificant meeting that had turned into so much more.

And he was going to argue: whether he was really part of Ardhalis, after all he’d done, whether he was even _human_ , whether he even deserved to be protected by the police at all. But he wasn’t thinking more than he was feeling, and this was Lauren Sinclair, the woman who’d managed to bring out every human emotion a person can possibly ever have.

And he didn’t really want to lose her again.

So he took her hand—very softly, very tentatively, eyes kept on hers—and when their skin made contact, he felt the warmth of her palm (which wasn’t so warm, really—she had cold hands‚ but by contrast they were still much warmer than his at the given moment) seep into his, and he internally revelled at the feeling, even when he’d been lifted up and she’d let go of his hand. In the cold of the winter evening, they walked side by side, towards a place they once shared warmth—and even though he knew things would never be the same again, he was glad to have experienced such warmth once more, even if only for a moment, even if only a fraction of what was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> _literally just cold._  
>  **
> 
> was going to make this a one-shot but thought of a continuation mid-writing so here we are :)
> 
> wrote this way too early in the morning, and didn't give it a re-read, so it's probably really bad sorry
> 
> this is the result of me stressing over a report that i ended up writing this instead
> 
> gone is the crap flowery language and back is my straightforward narration
> 
> and my love for kieran is still apparent here. ok that's it thanks for reading <3


	2. warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've come to realize that there is some minute amounts of angst in this fic (as a whole), but it's not so much that it brings pain. this chapter is quite angstier than the previous one, though. and the next chapter... may or may not be angsty or fluffy.
> 
> brace yourselves, i guess.

**Lauren Sinclair** wasn’t entirely sure what possessed her to accompany Kieran White, notorious assassin and the source of most of her current problems, back to his apartment in the cold air of a winter night, but there she was, walking in silent rhythm with his footsteps and the occasional sniff. The cold mustn't have fully affected him yet, as he hadn’t even realized about it until moments before, but given the current weather and just generally how stupid he seemed to be, Kieran would be going down with a serious case of the cold for the next few days.

Maybe it was simply general pity for humanity that drove her to lend a hand to him, despite knowing where his one had been. She was, after all, emotional in nature; maybe that pity had blurred her vision of the assassin, and instead showed her simply a weak human in need of help. Now that she was actually walking with him, though, she came to realize that Kieran could hardly be defined as weak, no matter how much he appeared to be at the given moment. 

She had to stay on guard. She knew.

Yet—for some reason she could never understand—when they arrived at his doorstep, she refused to simply leave the grown man, older than her by a couple of years, alone, even when he’d dismissed her.

And Kieran pointed out exactly that: “I don’t need you to babysit me, officer. I’m a grown man; it’s not my first cold either. You should go home. It’s getting dark.”

“Are you seriously expecting me to be afraid of the dark?” Lauren shot back instead, only half-offended, even though she was aware that wasn’t what he was implying. “I’m not the one you should be worried about. You look like you’re about to die any second.”

“Then please let me die in peace,” he groaned. “And you’re deflecting. Why are you still here? This is, literally, the perfect chance to show me just how much you hate me and want me to perish.”

Lauren glared at his blatant accusation. “I don’t want you to _perish_ , I want you to face the justice you deserve. And for that I need you alive.”

“You said you’d kill me if I was the one to kill that mole,” Kieran grumbled under his breath as he unlocked the door to his apartment. 

“And, if I recall, I was still in a mood to joke with you back then. Now not so much,” she clarified, not bothering to ask for his permission before walking through the door like she owned the place. 

To himself, Kieran muttered, “It didn’t sound like you were joking,” before heading in as well. Then, to her, he sighed, “Be glad that I’m not in a particular mood to fight with you, officer.”

Lauren took a while to enjoy the warmth of the apartment, as opposed to the cold outside. “You’re not ‘not in the mood’,” she argued nonetheless, “you’re too weak to fight back, which is why I have to do something about it.” 

“So you like fighting with me?” Kieran questioned, as he plopped down on his couch, his head hitting the head of the couch with force, while she headed to the kitchen.

She shrugged. “It’s no fun if you don’t respond to my hate appropriately, I admit. Makes it harder to want you to suffer.” She then racked the cabinets for some headache pills and cold medicine.

“A little sadist, aren’t you?” he chuckled softly, yet in the silence of the room the voice resonated, stirring a strange twinge of unidentified emotion deep deep down in her gut. 

She wasn’t particularly curious about it. In fact, she’d rather pretend it didn’t exist. So instead, she paused in her search, and said to him, “What did you find? Yesterday, when you went to Greychapel?”

He sighed in response. “Is this what this is about?” Then, after a while: “Nothing I can currently work with yet. I was trying to see if I can trail behind them into one of the places they store their imports—I was following the brunette woman in the Carmine Camelia meeting—but she went home after speaking to a few men. Probably working under her.”

“And you didn’t think to follow the men?” She scoffed, wondering if his brain had been off even _before_ he went on his infiltration mission. 

“How did you think I ended up in the freezing river? Suddenly fancied a swim?” Kieran snorted. “The man was paranoid, maybe because the woman had been urging him to get his job done or something. Or maybe because the 6th precinct has evidence against him, so he’s constantly on the lookout.”

Resuming her search for the medicine, she asked, “So what now? Are you going to switch to spying in the 6th precinct, now that it’ll be more useful for you?”

“I didn’t arrange my employment in your precinct, Lauren, if that’s what you’re so mad about,” Kieran hissed, turning to face her back. She paused momentarily at hearing him saying her name, because it wasn’t something he often did. Then she took a while to register that he was actually pissed, something that didn’t happen much either. “So no,” he continued, “unfortunately I can’t just switch to another precinct as you wish.”

“What _will_ you do, then?” She asked instead, not knowing how to deal with the shift in his mood.

He turned back, eyes fixated on the wall ahead of him. “You don’t have to concern yourself with what I do. I won’t hurt you. That is the truth, and you know it.”

“I’ll concern on what you’ll do as much as I like, because what you do is murder innocent people and terrorize the people of our city,” Lauren countered haughtily. “It’s my job to keep you criminals in check.”

When she found the medicine, she headed back to the couch, greeted with the sight of a strained Kieran White, eyes squeezed shut in pain, breathing heavily through his slightly opened mouth, a hand grasping his knee and the other raking his hair, letting a few strands fall out of his bun, which had been thrown into a haphazard mess after he fainted earlier. Again she began to feel the trace of those peculiar feelings, and again she tried to deny their existence. She did this by chucking the meds in her hand straight towards his body, not that it particularly bothered him. 

In his dumbfounded state, he simply looked back at her blankly, and she pettily scowled in annoyance instead, an indication that she wasn’t going to tell him to eat the meds, which again, was because she didn’t want to show that she cared more than she already had.

Kieran seemed to get the message, and he let out a resigned sigh before taking the pills. She handed him a glass of water, which he downed in a single shot, followed by a long inhale and exhale of breath, his eyes fluttering open and shut in between. “You’re just curious about my progress on my investigation, aren’t you?” He muttered, voice deep and slow. “I think you and I have both realized, especially after that night in the Carmine Camelia, that we’re best working together, sharing information, no matter how much you despise me.”

“If you realized that, why did you go to Greychapel alone?” She raised an eyebrow, not that he was looking. “You could’ve offered me a proposition, even if you thought I’d refuse.”

He sighed. “I live close to Greychapel, so I thought I’d just go,” He explained curtly. “Besides, you live on the other side, so if we did a late-night mission around here, you’ll have to sleep over here again, and I’m sure you don’t like the idea of that. Which is the same reason why you should leave now, before the lights go out and the night gets colder, and you can’t go home. Not sure if you realized, but monsters like me dominate the streets at the peak of night.”

Lauren took a look at him, all fatigued from the cold, and for a split second, considered arguing: _you’re not a monster._ But that would make his accusation of her being a hypocrite true, because she was the same person who deemed him a monster and had him unleash that side of him to her. So she wouldn’t take back her words. It was because of that monstrous side of him that they were this way. She didn’t want him to forget that. Not ever.

Again, she deflected: “Why did you think they’d be storing the weapons in Greychapel, anyway? Did you have past experience, like a mission, there?”

Beginning to get drowsy from the medicine, Kieran slurred, “Mhm. Didn’t really think they’d be so daring as to store it somewhere in the richer parts of the city, closer to the royals. They’re not so careful; they’re in a rush.”

“You’re the leader’s pet,” she pointed out, in part because it was fact, but more just to spite him, “you should know the leader better; do you think he knows? About the seventh apostle’s operation? I mean, he _must_ know, right? Considering he overlooks the criminals, he must’ve realized that all our convicts had been somewhat related to the seventh apostle, working similar ops. Maybe he’d find a way to deal with—” She paused in her train of theory upon realizing that, if he hadn’t responded to her taunt, he was probably already unconscious, and not listening to anything she was saying.

She woke him up just before he could fall asleep on the couch: “Go get changed before you fall asleep, assassin. I won’t change your clothes for you, nor will I carry you to your bed. As you said, you’re an adult now.”

“ _Ugh,_ ” the man groaned, rolling his eyes, before dragging himself upwards. “Okay, _mother,_ ” he drawled grumpily as he made his way to the bedroom, not even bothering to close the door before he took off his clothes swiftly, replacing it with his pajamas. When finished, he walked back out, presenting himself in all his clothed glory, including his dead-tired face, and said bluntly: “I’ve done all you asked, now will you leave?”

But, for the umpteenth time that day, and she didn’t know why either; perhaps she was so stubborn she felt like defying his every wish, but she shook her head and even dared go closer to him, and told him, “I’m not leaving until I’m sure you’re asleep. _Then_ I’ll leave.”

He opened his mouth in protest. He began, “What makes you think I’ll try to even—you know what? I can’t,” and he went back in his room, dropping on the bed sans any energy. 

Even though he appeared to be asleep, Kieran’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern, his forehead wrinkled, his eyes shut in frustration. They reopened when Lauren placed on his forehead a damp towel not long later, wet from warm water, and when he saw the expression on her face far gentler than seconds prior, he stared at her.

And Lauren—well, Lauren, the competitive woman she was—she couldn’t back down either. She couldn’t look away. She held his gaze, and though normally their eye contacts were charged with a sharpness that kills, this time they were so tender, _too_ tender—

So finally she relented, gave up first, and broke their gaze. It wasn’t for long, because as she was turning to finally leave, he caught her wrist with his left hand, holding her as softly as possible, in huge contrast to what he’d done before. When Lauren looked back, Kieran White looked too soft, too weak, too human.

But she’d seen a side of him where he was anything but, and she couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t.

“Why?” he asked, his voice breaking, probably from his sore throat. Maybe he was getting weaker. It _would_ be the perfect time to do whatever she wanted to do to hurt him. He _was_ at his most vulnerable. She didn’t even have to try. She could kill him in his sleep. 

And that was exactly what he said next: “Are you going to kill me in my sleep?”

“If so?” she challenged him. “If that was my plan, would you let me go through with it?” But her voice—she didn’t realize it, but her voice was way too quiet, way too _weak_ to taunt.

He replied anyway, in the faintest of a whisper: “I don’t know.”

And that scared Lauren Sinclair more; more than a clear no, more than a clear yes: the fact that she knew for a fact that he wasn’t lying when he said I don’t know, because to her, between the two of them, Kieran White had always been the more clear-headed one. He’d always been somewhat more rational, despite being amoral—he knew what he wanted, and had his own set of principles that he actually stuck by, because he knew what benefitted him and what would serve as his downfall. He was the smart one, the one who made more sense, the one who proposed the deal between them because he knew it was the only way they could get what they wanted, the one who used half-truths to evade her abilities, to conceal as much as possible from her.

So to see him this honest, this uncertain, it sent her into a whirlwind of bizarre feelings. Especially because, more than anything, she’d come to realize that he was only this uncertain when it comes to her. But Lauren Sinclair was queen of dealing with her feelings in the worst possible ways. 

“Well,” she started, and replied to his question: “I’m not going to kill you. Not until I catch the leader of the Phantom Scythe and send him to jail, or kill him. And I can’t do that without you. **_That’s why I need you alive._ **” The lie felt bitter on her tongue, but for once she was glad that she was the one with the lie-detecting skill and not anybody else, because God forbid anyone finds out about her, and a possible genuine care towards a man who had taken so, so much from her, destroyed so much of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, you guessed it: the next chapter will be titled **hot** , and you'll probably have realized that i'll mean it literally hot as in terms of temperature. (not that this chapter as any warm at all.)
> 
> anyways this was also written in sleep deprivation and under influence of three cups of coffee, so it may not make much sense. furthermore it's not even proofread—i uploaded this as soon as i finished writing so God knows if it's coherent at all. it's a self-indulgent reward for having written a solid hypothesis for my report at last! 
> 
> and yes it's finally a lauren-centered chapter, but honestly this lauren will never appear in canon, not until at least twenty epsiodes later, when so much shit has happened that changes their relationship again, so just. take this dream of a lauren. and enjoy the day/night depending on where you are and when you're reading this! <3
> 
> (genuinely, please don't hesitate to give criticism! anything that can be used to improve my writing is always appreciated!)


	3. hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok yeah this turned out Angstier than expected. and Way longer. i would like to apologize in advance.
> 
> final warning before the final ride: try not to be surprised. :]
> 
> ok have fun :>

**Kieran White** woke up abruptly, removing the blanket draped over him in a swift motion, taking a few seconds to inhale the warm air of the apartment before registering the amount of sweat he accumulated over the night. His entire body was steaming hot, a sign of his immune system at work, but if anything he felt even weaker and on the verge of collapsing back to his slightly damp bed.

He was considering so, if not for the series of rapid knocks on his door. Slinging the towel Lauren Sinclair had placed on his forehead around his neck, he dragged his feet through the wooden flooring, for some reason expecting a flaming redhead. (It made him realize that maybe he wasn’t in the best state to go back to work, but he didn’t want to show such a weakness.) 

He was slightly surprised to find that the hair of the other person was a few shades lighter than the red he was accustomed to, and it caused a sharp throbbing to form in his head. “Out of all people…”

Belladona Davenport raised an eyebrow, taking her time to observe him. “I didn’t know there were many others who knew about your apartment.”

Kieran didn’t bother trying to send her away; he knew she’d just annoy him more if he tried, so he held the door open for her to enter the place. She didn’t hesitate to point out: “Are you sick?”

“ **_No, I just had a shower,_ **” Kieran replied sarcastically, though he wasn’t sure whether she’d believe his words.

“And why were you having such a hot shower? You look like a lobster,” she remarked, a slight pout accompanying her naturally-sultry voice. Normally he didn’t mind the fact that she always sounded like she was teasing: after all, it was also in his nature to tease. However, given his current state of mind, he wanted to tape her mouth shut so badly that she wouldn’t be able to say anything that tickled his nerves.

“Hot showers are nice,” he replied instead, deciding not to tell her the truth if she won’t call out his bluff. “And why are you here in such an ungodly hour of the day?”

She sighed dramatically, resting an arm on the kitchen counter. “Can’t I just visit my friend, for old times’ sake?”

Even in his sickness-impared mind, Kieran was able to process her mocking words with full consciousness, and with scorn. “You seem to be purposefully omitting the fact that not only are we no longer friends, but also that it’s because we’ve literally broken up,” he deadpanned, emphasizing the last two words for effect, like if he didn’t she wouldn’t understand what he was trying to say, like _she_ was the sick one and not _him_.

Belladona groaned, and positioned her head on top of her arm on the counter, flat sideways, facing him who was resting his elbows on the other end of the counter, a cup of warm water in hand. With a not-so-subtle pout, she whined, “Oh, don’t be such a conservative; you sound like the royals, for devil’s sake. Can’t we stay friends even after breaking up?”

“Sure, why not,” Kieran shrugged, before his nonchalant eyes slowly morphed into slits. “If you hadn’t, you know, blatantly cheated on me, maybe we’d still be fine.”

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, twisting her pout into some sinister smirk. “Aw, is my little Kiki heartbroken? Who knew the Purple Hyacinth is such a soft puppy in nature.”

“I don’t particularly care that you didn’t want me anymore or anything,” he corrected her, ignoring her taunts. “You could’ve just ended it and I’d leave you on your merry way. It’s just that now I know I can’t trust you anymore.”

She stood up, walking slowly towards him. He didn’t budge. “It’s not like you ever loved me to begin with,” she noted, and in a low voice, she whispered as she ran her manicured fingers through his hair that had fallen out of the bun in his sleep, palm resting on his skull: “and you and I both know that there is no such thing as trust in this world of ours.”

What went down next happened in a flash: Kieran took her right wrist, the one in his hair, and spun her such that her back was against his chest. He caged her upper body with his right arm as he grabbed her left hand with his, pinning it to her lower back, squeezed against their bodies, so that she couldn’t grab her knife to attack him. The additional heat from her body became unbearable when mixed with his own, from the fever, yet he held her firm against her initial struggle to get out of his grasp. “Even when sick, you don’t let your guard down, do you?” she scoffed. “Relax. I won’t kill you. Not yet, anyway. The leader will have my head if I do.”

“Are you spying on me, then? For him?” he questioned coldly, not wanting to deal with her antics anymore. He may still be physically strong, but that didn’t mean he had a strong enough mind to deal with useless things like these. “If he doubts me, you can go tell him not to worry and focus on dealing with that operation you’re overlooking. In fact, I’m literally on my way to continue doing my good bidding for him, so if you’ll please make your way.”

“Do you need to be spied upon?” she prompts curiously, turning her head in an attempt to look him in the eye. “Because I’ll relay that to him if that’s the case. But no. I need your help, and I think you’ll find it of value to you as well.”

He let her go, but not before retrieving her venomous blade from inside her coat with much effort. “And why’s that?”

“Because we both need more information on Seven’s op.”

For a second Kieran wondered if she found out about him being Lune, but if that were the case, she’d probably have killed him by now, and he knew she could, even though he had her pinned a while ago. Despite being known as the most feared assassin himself, Belladona Davenport didn’t fall short when it came to killing, and she could commit murder in the nastiest ways possible.

So he simply raised an eyebrow, demanding more explanation from her statement. 

She took it as a cue of interest. “We’ll go to the Golden Clover tonight, as a couple. I spy on my target, who’s another demolitionist Seven’s talked to who I don’t know about. You see why I’m interested. And you look for Lune; they’ve somehow managed to eliminate four of our pawns, so chances that they’ll be there are high. Then we can go our separate ways, if you must.” Then she took a strand of her nauseating pink hair and looked at him through her lashes, blinking innocently, saying coyly: “Or, you know, we could… have some fun.”

He resisted the urge to poke her eyes and shove her forehead away from his face. “Why don’t you just find someone else? Or go alone?” Although he must admit, her idea to “look for Lune” where a member of the seventh apostle’s operation would be was a good idea, because if he knew about said demolitionist, he would’ve done exactly what Belladona predicted Lune to do. Fortunately, he was Lune himself, so he could easily fake not seeing Lune in the Clover if he did choose to go, and it’d be a free opportunity for him to spy on the operation as well.

“The thing is, people recognize me, and I don’t doubt the demolitionist will, too,” she told him. “But not many people recognize you. So if I go in disguise, it’ll be less obvious if I go with someone unrecognizable; if alone, they could suspect me as being a spy way too easily. But I can’t go with anyone else, because not everyone is a know-it-all, like the both of us.” Without hesitation, she spilled, “I was going to go with Sake, because I suspect he knows a thing or two about the one I’m about to spy on. Unfortunately he has a bad case of being recognized; in fact, he’ll be dealing with the officer who almost outed his involvement in the Allendale explosion anytime soon. Maybe even tonight.” 

Kieran paused his breathing momentarily, looking at her with raised eyebrows in question. She simply shrugged, before pondering. “It’s a miracle she’s survived this long, really. Maybe if she hadn’t tried to convict him without evidence, if she was a tad bit smarter, she could even be a Lune member. Maybe you should look into her nonetheless.”

Or maybe he’d already known the officer.

He forced a smirk. “If she’s Lune and your guy’s going to kill her, then I’ll simply have to thank him for doing half my job. Or maybe kill him too, so it looked like I killed the officer instead. You _were_ going to kill him soon anyway, right?”

She mirrored his expression. “Now that’s more like it.”

He had been considering whether to tell Lauren Sinclair of his visit to the Golden Clover that night, especially because she’d specifically asked him about his missions the night prior. But after Belladona’s revelations, he decided against it: if Belladona already suspects Lune’s imminent presence in the area, then it would be foolish to even try and show up. Furthermore, if she was truly the officer Belladona was talking about—after all, it sounded way too similar to be a coincidence; that she was demoted because of trying to imprison someone who she claimed to have connections to Phantom Scythe, but with lack of evidence, and that this was what exactly happened to Sake himself—then, even though it was not explicit, Kieran had a feeling that she’d recognize the officer as well, either because she did her own digging or because Sake had described the officer to her. Either way, Lauren’s presence would only undermine their operation— _his_ operation, really. He should stop depending on Lune in order to achieve their common goal of revealing the leader’s identity. 

But he couldn’t stop thinking: what if Sake does what he said he’d do, and kills Lauren, while he was away, with no way to prevent it from happening? Should he warn her? If so, would she try to insist on going to the Golden Clover nonetheless, as it’s safer for herself? Or would she try to handle it herself, and die trying, because of her stubbornly independent nature? Dread settled in his guts, alongside a whole bunch of other chemicals caused by his cold, and overall it simply made him want to puke.

But when he saw Belladona again, making her way out of the apartment, he wondered why he cared so much about the officer. He never cared much for Belladona, even when he’d known her and been with her for so long. Why was he trying so hard to spare the officer’s life, letting his neurons fry in a desperate attempt to find the best solution for _her_?

Perhaps it was for the better that he went with Belladona, and without her, Kieran finally decided. After all, he and Belladona were monsters of like, both creatures of unforgivable acts, and they’d known each other for so long, and he was immune to her pain, as she was to him, unlike to Lauren, to whom he was the most exposed, defenseless, the most unlike himself. This night out with his ex would serve to be a reminder, a reality check, as to the man he truly was, the man who hurt the officer, the man who did not deserve anything as _good_ as she.

—

 **Lauren Sinclair** had been leaning against a table, observing the info board whilst twisting her dagger in her right hand, when Kieran White walked in the cave— _his_ cave, really—clad in formal outfit and an unusual presentation of untied hair a few minutes past midnight. He had been running a hand through the unruly black hair when he spotted her, and he seemed to be just as surprised to see her as she was to see his long hair fall on his shoulders in its full glory. That, and the way the black and maroon outfit he was wearing, sans outerwear, seemed to accentuate his body perfectly, reminded her of just how good-looking the assassin actually was, and how much of a pity it was that he was an assassin and a terrible person in general.

That didn’t stop her from malfunctioning temporarily, though, and it took her awhile to realize that he was waiting for an explanation, an eyebrow raised, standing firm near the entrance of the cave. Lauren thought it was quite odd: there was a fair amount of distance between them, yet he was trying to maintain so much distance. She couldn’t see his expression well from the distance, but eventually it came to her notice that the man was distressed, hence his messy hair presentation. Then she remembered he was sick.

“Why are you here?” she was the one to ask instead, and this was understandably responded with an incredulous assassin from the man in question.

“This is my cave, if I recall,” he replied, looking at her like she lost half her head. “Why are _you_ here?”

“You’re supposed to be on bedrest,” she argued, for some reason sounding frantic. She wasn’t entirely sure why she was getting worked up—he was right, after all; this _was_ his cave, and he had every right to be there. She just didn’t know how to respond appropriately to his sudden appearance, sudden because she was, well, expecting him to be home, resting. 

He didn’t bother hiding his irritation when he shot back, “So you can just occupy my cave if I’m not here? Since when is this our shared space?”

Lauren wasn’t sure why his words caused a little twinge in her chest, maybe because it reminded her of a time where they _did_ share the cave in midnights similar to the present time, or because he had been so cold in accusing her, as if she was a stranger—then again, Kieran White’s nature wasn’t to be serious, it was to joke, to _tease_ , and this—this was not the Kieran she knew.

Then again, was there anything about Kieran that she truly knew?

She gripper the hilt of her dagger a little tighter, unable to tell the full truth: that she’d had a nightmare disguised as a happy dream, in which she enjoyed time blissfully with her two best friends, in which Dylan was alive, in which she and Kieran himself—as opposed to their twisted fate in reality—bickered lightheartedly, simply as two people free of trauma, in a world free of the Phantom Scythe and all things related.

She always woke up from those “dreams”, because she hated being mocked by them. So there she was: submerging herself with whatever information she can, and since she’d run out of information from her own infiltrations, she’d decided to scour for more from the cave, despite her history with him in the place.

“I needed more information, and you’ve been going on missions alone, so I figured I’d get some from your info board instead,” she told him instead, since it was the truth anyway. Apparently she’d picked up his habit of half-truthing more than she’d realized. “It’s a one time thing. Speaking of which, where _have_ you been?”

From his initial spot, he gave her a sharp glare of disapproval, before deciding to drop it, heading to where she was. “Not that it’s any of your business, since we’re no longer partners, but if you really must know: I was out with an old friend.”

Lauren wasn’t sure whether to glare—irritated that he still found time to enjoy his life—or look surprised at the revelation that he had friends, so she went along with nonchalance instead: “An old friend?” she simply asked, instead of prompting further. Not that she was particularly curious anyway. 

He grabbed a knife from his vast collection of knives, inspecting it with no good reason. “‘For old times’ sake,’ she said.”

This caused her to raise an eyebrow. “Does this woman happen to be the assassin who killed Harvey?”

Lifting the blade in his hand to her line of sight, Kieran mused with his eyes on the point of the blade: “Sharp, aren’t you.”

She smirked, but it was hollow, and said pointedly: “Judging from your outfit, it must’ve been some date. Can’t imagine what a date between two assassins is supposed to be like.”

He merely hummed in response, mirroring her expression for a split second. Then he placed back his knife on the rack before sighing. “Which is why you should go home. I’m extremely tired and I don’t have the energy to deal with anything else at the moment, let alone _patiently_.”

Somehow she knew he meant it this time, that he’d probably snap at her if she kept on prodding, unlike the previous night when he was simply too tired to actually respond to her. But she argued instinctively: “Then you should’ve gone straight home and slept on a bed, rather than coming here at all.”

He glared at her the umpteenth time that day. “I came here because I have information to add on my board, and that’s certainly less taxing than having to kill someone.”

Lauren stood up straight, inching away from him, dagger drawn ahead of her. “You’re going to—you’re going to kill me?”

He looked to the ceiling, sighing in headache from her obliviousness. “If I was going to kill _you_ , I would’ve already done so, Lauren. I won’t be the one to kill you.”

“Then who are you supposed to kill?” She looked at him stupidly, wondering whether he’d been sarcastic when he mentioned killing someone.

“Sake was supposed to kill you tonight,” Kieran shrugged, walking towards the other side of the table across her. “Well, at least that’s what Bella told me. And if he kills you, then I’ll have to kill _him_ too, otherwise he’d take credit for killing half of Lune, which was supposed to be _my_ job.” He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, drenched in the sweat elicited by the internal heat of his body.

Though Lauren was, to a tiny extent, offended at the way he seemed to brush off her plausible murder and made it seem simply like a bother to him, she froze when she realized what he’d said: “You know Tim Sake?”

“Only that he’s Bella’s boy toy,” he admitted, before looking at her in the eyes, slowly cocking his head sideways. “Oh, and that he’s going to murder someone who had previously lashed out at him, someone threatening his life with her mere existence. Wait,” he turned to look away in faux contemplation. “Is it just me, or does that sound _awfully_ familiar?”

And Lauren, the hot-tempered person she was, lost it right there. Not only had he dared compare, _twist_ her situation to his, when it was nothing alike, when he _fully_ knew what Tim Sake had done to her, but he also dared act as if it wasn’t he himself who had choked the _life_ out of her, as if he hadn’t tried to _kill_ her himself, because she was mad at him for having murdered a bunch of other people. Now he’s even trying to make it seem like he was victim to her as she was to Tim Sake? The audacity. 

She felt her face steam up, could feel the blood running to her cheeks and forehead as her anger—genuine anger, this time—bubbled up, while she took long, heavy strides to the other side of the table to grab him by his unbuttoned collar, to force him to look in her thunderous eyes when she growled, “How dare you talk as if you hadn’t hurt me, tried to kill me first? How _dare_ you play victim?”

“Did I say you were a victim to Tim Sake’s justified reasons to murder you?” he replied, voice deep and calm as opposed to her fiery rage, causing a sharp impulse to travel down the back of her spine and branch out in shivers. “You also wanted him dead, don’t you? You were mad when he taunted you, and you lunged at him. Doesn’t that make the two situations similar?”

“Was I taunting you when I got mad at you for, I don’t know, already murdering a bunch of people?” she snapped at him, her voice getting higher by the end of her sentence. “I had every right to get mad at Sake. He caused a massive explosion that killed lots of people, and dared mock us about it. You have _no_ right to get mad at me, not when _you’re_ the one to cause the problem to begin with.”

She was so heated up by her anger, by their confrontation, that she didn’t quite notice the way his face fell, the way his own restrained rage turned blankly stoic instead, the way his eyes softened a fraction, his pupils dilating out of focus. It was only when he said, devoid of emotion: “Did you not consider that maybe I was hurt, too?” that she realized she had perhaps been so selfish as to never see the way everything had impacted him as well. She’d only assumed that she was the one hurting, the one receiving the brunt of their broken partnership, but she seemed to have forgotten that Kieran White was layers and layers of persona, existing to keep his innermost feelings always buried, not wearing his heart on his sleeve like she did.

She was still mad, but beneath the anger on the surface was a pang of an unidentifiable emotion, along with the guilt she’d grown to get used to. But that, combined with the knowledge of what he’d done to her, instead fueled her hot rage, as she didn’t want to be feeling pity towards him in any way. He’d hurt her. She didn’t want to forgive him. She was terrified she’d be swayed by his glazed cerulean eyes, so she pushed him away from her, feeling the cold air of the cave return to her senses, not that it did much to dampen her temper. She glowered, “That doesn’t justify your actions.”

He ran his fingers through his long bangs in frustration. “Leave, Lauren,” he said solemnly after a while. “If you’re so bothered over what I did, then you should know better than to stay in this cave with the same impatient monster.”

She raised her dagger and pointed it at his throat. “Don’t worry, I came prepared this time,” she informed him, not entirely sure herself why she insisted on going against his every order. “And if it’s as you claim that Sake’s on his way for my head, then we really don’t have time, so you better tell me what you’ve discovered on your “date”.”

But Kieran wasn’t having it: he grabbed the dagger by its blade, letting his palm be cut in the process, and in Lauren’s momentary surprise, pulled her and had her pinned against the table, the dagger discarded with ease on the floor. His hands were placed firmly on the table to her sides, effectively caging her between him and the table. She arched backwards, overwhelmed by the proximity, but in order to maintain her balance she had to prop herself up by placing her hand on the table behind her. In doing this she came in contact with his right hand, covered in warm blood, catching her by further surprise.

“Why do you keep pushing it?” he growled in a low voice, and she gulped in response, not liking the way it made her feel. “How many times do you want to be reminded that I can kill you without hesitation?”

She stared him down nonetheless, responding to his glare with equal ferocity. “I told you, we don’t have much time, and we’re still a long way from the leader, so—”

“I don’t need to have your lie-detecting abilities to know that you’re lying, Lauren,” he hissed, the harshness in his voice hitting her skin almost too literally, giving her chills. “Spit it out, before I make you. Why are you here? Why are you doing this?”

The truthful answer to those questions, really, was _I don’t know_ , but she couldn’t say that. She didn’t know what was keeping her grounded to the cave, even if she swore to herself she’d never trust him anymore, didn’t want anything to do with him anymore. She should have the cave listed in places she’d never go to anymore, but somehow she ended up there anyway, housing the very same monster who’d ruined a huge part her life, and giving him every opportunity to do so again. Why? She had no idea, and she hated not knowing.

So instead of answering, she did what she’d been doing the entire night: she fought back—“Then make me. _Touch_ me, I _dare_ you.”

Then she came to realize her mistake in saying that, because she became hyper aware of their current predicament. They were way too close, she could literally feel the heat radiating off his body. Hotter than that was his labored breathing; they were breathing way too heavily, the air they inhaled a mixture of each other’s exhales. She realized soon that her challenge to him, though uttered with the utmost contempt, was so _weak_ , so _desperate_ —all he had to do was move a single inch, and they’d be touching. And given his position, slightly hovering over her, he could do so, so much more, and _then_ she finally felt the terror she was supposed to feel, scared of all the possibilities of what he could do to her.

His eyes left hers, drifting downwards, darkening for an inexplicable reason. She didn’t want to find out. He lifted his right hand—the same hand to choke her the other night, the same one covered with blood from grabbing her dagger—and moved towards her, but rather than landing on her neck, he let his fingers graze her chin, and his thumb, very gently, over the corner of her lower lip, smearing a little blood on it. He pulled away before she could even _feel_ his hand, dropping it to his side.

She should’ve found satisfaction in this; in the knowledge that he _couldn’t_ touch her, that she was unharmed, that he was _weak_ in front of her. But this time, no matter how much she tried to ignore the feeling growing inside, the feeling in her heart—or in her gut—or in her nerves, or in her bloodstream, or in her head, or in her chest—they were interchangeable in the world of feelings, anyway—Lauren couldn’t ignore the fact that she wanted _more_.

She tried to let herself believe that it was in her nature to crave for fight, for challenge, for resistance—that was what she told herself, anyway, when she proceeded to grab him by the back of the neck before he could retreat, and caved into the heat of the night.

Kieran was, despite his apparent surprise, was just as quick to react, catching her open mouth and letting their breaths mingle amongst the rapid lapping of tongues. He, from his blood on her lips, tasted like iron, but she couldn’t help drinking in more of him. They were passionate, but he took his sweet time, slowly pinning her back against the table, even as she pushed deeper against him, not letting him dominate, not even in this.

When they broke apart, he seemed to be the first out of the two to break out of their initial carnal desire. He cursed softly under his breath, but that only did more things to the thing beating behind her ribcage, and it compelled her to grab his head, rough black locks threaded between her fingers, and pull it back to hers, before _she_ could be forced to register what was going on.

She didn’t allow them to stop, not for a long time, so she didn’t have to think about what this meant. After all, Lauren Sinclair’s primal instinct was to act on her feelings. It always had been. 

They only stopped when he had bit down on her lip, and she didn’t bother containing the moan of pleasure from the back of her throat, even though she’d been adamant on letting herself fall weak in front of him. He took a step back, watching her as she came back from her high. They took a while to regain their breaths, letting the hot sensation cool. 

Kieran was the first to speak, though he did so hoarsely: “What does this mean, Lauren?”

She looked up to him already staring at her intently, and for the first time she answered honestly, in a weak whisper: “I don’t know.”

He took a while to think of her response, before nodding. Eyes fluttering close, then open again, he concluded, “We need time.”

She closed her eyes in frustration. “We don’t have time, Kieran.”

“Then we make time,” he said decidedly, firm in his resolution. She reopened her eyes to look at his sudden change in attitude. He took a step closer, looked at her with renowned vigor, and placed a hand softly on her head, tilting it up to match his gaze. “You’ll have to stay alive, for me, and I for you. For us. Until we figure this out.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow. 

“It means we stop Seven’s op, take down the leader, defeat the Phantom Scythe. _Then_ we’ll see where to go from there. But you’ll have to stay alive until then.”

“Do I even have a choice?” she joked lamely, but it was received with a snort. 

“No, you don’t. I’ll keep you alive, even if you don’t want to be,” he affirmed, and she realized that this was what had to be for now. And perhaps he was right. Whatever feelings she could possibly have harboured for the assassin was not as important if they were to just die soon, so they had to compromise. 

So she nodded, and picked up her dagger that Kieran had thrown to the floor. “Well then, we should get started.” She walked to the open area, beckoning him with her dagger to come over. “Now, will you finally tell me whatever information you’ve found?”

Kieran grabbed a dagger of his own from his collection, smirking at her. “You are in for quite the ride, officer,” before proceeding to spar with her through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok yea that's finally DONE —
> 
> first things first i was going to make this chapter a lot more in the angst direction and less in the spice but it didn't really match my initial planning of the story so there you have it yeah
> 
> besides the purpose of this fic is like a self-indulgence where they do what i want for them to do and making out is in that list because the tension between them is just so HNG yeah so this is way off canon :")
> 
> and i'm a bit high i'm running on so much caffeine my hands are shaking as i type so it's a bit like word vomit i apologize again esp bcs it's not proofread (pls tell me if something doesn't make sense i'm just so lazy)
> 
> but if you're still reading this then you survived it and thank you so much! :D any feedback is always appreciated, y'know, for future works <3 thank you once again for bearing with the crap i write in my worst state :"]


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